


Ouch

by Neuropsyche



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 23:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20804954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuropsyche/pseuds/Neuropsyche
Summary: For whumptober prompt (hidden injury)





	Ouch

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I know it isn't October, yet

“Are you out of your _mind_?”

Peter flinched from the fury in Tony Stark’s voice – even as the helmet of the Ironman suit disengaged – but it was Natasha Romanoff who spoke.

“Tony…”

“No. Did you see what he did? He could have been _killed_.” Stark rounded on Peter, then. “That suit isn’t _bullet-proof_, Peter – despite the fact that you act like it is.”

Peter turned away; his hand lightly pressed to the side – an action that was unnoticed in the very dark of the alley and with the dark colors of his suit.

“I know,” he mumbled. Then he hesitated, and looked like he might have said more. But he didn’t. “I’ve got to go. I have class in the morning.”

He was gone – vanished into the night before any of them could stop him.

“That was harsh,” Steve chided.

“He was being _stupid_.”

“He saved _your_ life,” Romanoff said, reaching down and picking up the gun that she’d kicked from the hand of the man who had almost managed to take out Ironman. Easy enough to do when the suit was disengaged as it had been. “Maybe less _angry_ Tony and more _proud_ mentor, next time?”

“He could have died,” Tony said.

As if that explained why he was so angry.

And to him, it did.

><><><>>< 

Peter was out of breath by the time he made it home. He snuck into the apartment the easy way and closed the window behind him, finally able to pull the mask off and take a deep, shuddering, breath. He looked around, but knew that he was alone. May was gone for a couple of weeks – Peter was almost eighteen, now, and she knew that she could take time to visit a friend out of town and not need to worry about him being home alone.

Especially since she knew the Avengers – and more pointedly, _Tony Stark_ – would keep an eye on him for her.

“Not this time…” he murmured, to himself, reaching out to grab the back of a chair when his knees suddenly buckled, weakly, under him.

He lurched back upright, and sat down, clutching his side, painfully, and looking, amazed, at the red stain that had formed on the suit, under his hand.

“FRIDAY? What’s the first aid protocol for a bullet wound?” he asked, giggling to himself, softly, because he knew she wasn’t there and wasn’t going to answer him.

The giggle ended with a gasp as he pulled his shirt off. The wound was bleeding, still, and gaping and red. If he wasn’t so out of it, just then, it might have been scary to see. Peter reached for the drawer that had all of the dishcloths in it, pulling it open and taking one out, then putting it back and grabbing a different one, since the first was May’s favorite.

He wasn’t a doctor, but he’d seen enough movies to know he needed a wet cloth to press against it. And then sleep. He could heal, he knew. He’d just go lay down for a while. Maybe by the time that he woke up, he’d feel better and it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

A wave of exhaustion almost drove him to the floor when he got up, but he fought it off and managed to make it as far as the living room before he was forced to sink into the cushions of the couch. He’d planned on going to his room, but he wasn’t going to make it that far.

He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness he’d been fighting all the way home to overcome him, finally.

><><><><>>< 

“Where’s Peter?”

Tony frowned and shrugged, looking at the small group around the table, although he knew Peter wasn’t in the room. He would have noticed him the moment he walked in.

“I assumed that he’d be here.”

“I thought he was with you,” Steve said, looking at Tony.

“I had a meeting. And he has classes, today.”

They all heard him say it the night before. Not that Tony needed the announcement; he knew Peter’s schedule as well as his own. Even better, really, since his was subject to change.

“We need to debrief.”

“Did you try calling him?” Tony was a little worried, suddenly, because Peter was reliable, and never late. Especially when it came to anything Avenger related. “Maybe he’s running behind?”

“I tried,” Natasha said. She picked up her phone and hit her speed dial. They all heard silence, and then Peter’s cheerful voice directing them to leave a message. “Nothing.”

“Think we should be worried?” Steve asked, looking at Tony.

“Maybe he’s pouting,” Stark replied. “No one likes to be chewed out.”

“Especially when they don’t _deserve_ it,” Romanoff put in.

“He tried to get between me and a bullet,” Tony reminded her, feeling annoyed – and very worried, although he was trying to hide that from the others.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Natasha said, standing up.

“I’ll come with you,” Clint told her.

“Tell him he owes us all dinner for being late,” Tony said, sitting down at the table across from Steve, secretly relieved that someone was checking on the boy – and forcing himself not to run after them to go, too.

><>><><><> 

The building was noisy. They took the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator with the small crowd of people that were standing around, impatiently, shopping bag, groceries and children all weighing them down.

Both of them knew which apartment Peter shared with May, even though neither had been there, ever, and they had no trouble finding it. Even though it wasn’t a mission, really, it was habit for Romanoff to stand guard, looking around, suspiciously, while Clint knocked on the door.

They waited, but there wasn’t any answer.

“Try calling him, again?” Clint suggested.

She pulled her cell and dialed, and Barton put his ear against the door. Both heard the very faint sounds of the Ironman theme song that was Peter’s ringtone.

“His _phone’s_ home.”

“Teenaged boy leave his phone at home? _That_ doesn’t happen.”

She frowned her agreement, and reached into her pocket, pulling a small stiletto.

“Move.”

A moment later they were walking through the door, looking around the small neat space – and noticed the still form on the sofa, immediately.

“Jesus…”

><><><>><> 

Tony was pale and worried when he stormed into the waiting room, startling Clint and making Romanoff look up at his arrival.

“How is he?”

“They haven’t said,” she replied. “He’s in surgery.”

Barton hesitated.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“What…”

“You said it, Tony,” she said, coldly. “His suit isn’t bulletproof. And neither is _he_. It looks like he might have tried to stop the bleeding – there was a towel against his side, but it was soaked through, and so was the couch we found him on.”

“Did…” he hesitated, too, and they both could see that he looked lost and scared. It didn’t look good on him. “Did he say anything?”

“No. He was out when we found him.”

Steve walked into the room, then, as well. He’d had to park the car.

“What do we know?”

Romanoff shook her head.

“Nothing, yet. We have to wait.”

><><><><><> 

It was an ache in his side that woke Peter, finally. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking into Tony Stark’s concerned brown eyes. The older man bit his lower lip, and reached out to brush his fingertips against the boy’s cheek.

“Hey…”

Peter closed his eyes, certain that he was still asleep and probably dreaming. When he opened them, again, however, Tony was still there. Still touching him.

“Tony…?”

“Yeah, Peter,” came the tender reply. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re alright.”

“Where am I?”

“The hospital,” came the reply. Peter frowned when he saw Tony’s eyes tearing up. “They…” the billionaire sniffed, looking away for a moment. And then another long moment, because he was having trouble getting himself under control and couldn’t speak around the huge lump that was choking his throat. “They took the bullet out of your stomach and managed to keep you from leaving us…”

Peter brought his hand from his side, weakly, wanting to comfort Tony, but unsure how to.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears that had been threatening finally fell, and Tony took the hand in both of his, lowered his head into Peter’s shoulder and cried.

It was a long time before Tony was able to finally regain control of himself and lift his head, and when he did, he saw Peter watching him. The boy’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks were wet with tears, too, and the older man wiped his face with his sleeve before reaching for a tissue to do the same to Peter’s.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not quite yet trusting his voice. “I was just so worried about you.”

“I’m going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Pete…” and now his fingers brushed through Peter’s hair, moving it away from his forehead while Peter watched. “You’re going to have to be in here for a little while, but you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Peter told him, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Tony knew he was the reason that Peter had hurried to escape the alley the night before. _He’d_ been frightened, and it had translated into angry – as it often did with him – and he’d lashed out at Peter without hesitation. He didn’t need Romanoff to tell him that he’d been an asshole – although he was sure that _that_ particular conversation was coming, too.

“You’ll stay?”

The older man nodded, even though Peter couldn’t see it.

“Yeah. I’ll stay. Someone has to keep you safe, right?"

Peter nodded, too, but didn't open his eyes.

"Thanks, Tony."

"Go to sleep." 

The boy did as he was told, almost immediately, and Tony shifted to the chair next to the bed, settling in to wait however long it took.

The end


End file.
